


Overflow

by keirajo



Series: The Love of Romance [21]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Drama, Love, M/M, Making Up, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirajo/pseuds/keirajo
Summary: In the aftermath of the "Dark Megatron" arc...........the crew of the Lost Light must deal with the fallout.   And something very interesting is about to be discovered............
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: The Love of Romance [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222904
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	Overflow

**Author's Note:**

> It's work #100 posted here on AO3--thanks to everyone who has read my work and supported me..........and here's to the next 100 works! XD

**_ Overflow _ **

“Commander Magnus, to me it sounds as if your ship needs a counselor,” Harik Judur said on the video communications screen.

“We used to have one, when we first left Cybertron…” Ultra Magnus began, trying to remember who that was. His memory was rarely ever faulty, but for some reason he couldn’t remember very much about the mech who had once been the _Lost Light_ ’s Chief Psychiatrist.

It wasn’t Magnus’ fault, of course—Rung had been altered and designed to be forgotten. It was in the nature of his sacrifice, when he had once been part of the Guiding Hand— _as Primus_. In a battle he had taken a blast to save the others, however in the end the blast was destined to make people forget. In the end, they had all forgotten Primus and even Primus himself had forgotten who he was, becoming a simple mech designated as “ _Rung_ ”. Who had become a psychiatrist and was one of the best, but most people took little notice of him and forgot him over time.

And, then, Rung sacrificed himself to create the Matrix Devices—which had saved them all at the end. And, as had become his nature, Rung’s memory had slowly faded from the consciousness of those on the _Lost Light_.

“But you don’t appear to have one, now—and it sorely seems you are in need of one,” the President of the Galactic Alliance continued, light admonishment in his voice. “I know that there are very few mechanaloid species in our Alliance, but we do have members from worlds who might adapt around your kind and be able to live on your ship, if your crew would choose to have them.”

“It’s a decision that would require both of our Captains in on the meetings and neither of them are ready to assume command as of this moment,” Ultra Magnus answered, shaking his head. “If you will make a list of candidates that you feel might be adaptable to us on our ship, please forward the information to me and I will try to have a meeting with the full command crew as soon as our Captains are ready for it.”

“I will do that, Commander Magnus,” Judur answered, smiling on the vid-screen. The two spoke of a few more general security things and then the _Lost Light_ ended contact with the President of the Galactic Alliance.

“I know some would gripe about havin’ a counselor again, but……….I’ll be honest, Magnus, it’s a _good idea_ ,” Roller said, standing behind the Captain’s chair and handing his security report to the Second-in-Command over the bulky mech’s shoulder pillars. “If we’re worried over organics and environment on the ship—I don’t think we need ta’ be. There’re a number of mineral-based species, some nearly as large as ours—saw a few on that one planet we were on when the Lost Light was getting refitted.”

“Yes, I feel the same way, Roller,” Ultra Magnus responded, beginning to glance over the general summary screen of the report. “That isn’t my largest concern right now. It’s what everyone else is feeling about what happened—and Megatron remaining in a command position,” he murmured, quietly, so that only Roller could hear him.

“People need to get past their prejudices,” the large, dark-colored mech grumbled softly in return. “If it were Pax that had been taken and tortured and broke—they’d forgive him right away. They’re only grumblin’ ‘cause it’s _Megatron_.”

Roller wasn’t wrong in his observation. As a mech who had come from the past and had missed the war—he still knew Optimus Prime as “ _Orion Pax_ ” and to him, Megatron was a mech that Orion Pax had been friendly with. He had no idea of the war and the tyrant that Megatron had become. Because of that, Roller was able to view Megatron with far more honest optics in all the current situations since he’d joined up with the crew. The old mech had reviewed history and noted how skewed it was in one direction or another, so because of that, he chose not to label Megatron one way or another—just to see how the grey-colored mech chose to live his current life.

On the other hand, other crew members whose lives had been defined by the war—they had been born because of it, they had been in it and they had seen the worst—they all pointed out how Megatron’s fall would be inevitable. Most of these had honestly supported Getaway’s revolution. Those were the ones who were suddenly staging protests saying that Megatron should be locked away somewhere off the ship—they could ask the Galactic Ranger Patrol to incarcerate him somewhere. Not a single one of them took into consideration what that would do to Rodimus. Ultra Magnus supposed, to most of them, they didn’t understand just what a Spark-bond was and what it did.

Then again, _some of those people_ could care less about Rodimus, as well. Rodimus had not gone out of his way to make himself liked, especially after Megatron had come aboard—his juvenile tantrums had become worse and it made him unlikable amongst the majority of the crew. None of which would even stop to think for a single moment just how important Rodimus was to the fact that they were all here, right now, enjoying all of this freedom.

“ _It disgusts me_ ,” Roller grumbled, turning away and heading off the bridge, back to his security offices.

It disgusted Ultra Magnus, as well. Abandoning any Cybertronian here in this universe—leaving them completely alone at the hands of any number of alien species—would be cruel punishment and the old soldier was angry to see Autobots were behind supporting this idea. It went against all of his ideals as an Autobot to abandon a Cybertronian anywhere. And Ultra Magnus lost faith in those calling themselves Autobots who would willingly do such a thing.

For now, though, Ultra Magnus had to consider the feelings of the crew in general and make sure everyone’s views were addressed, whether he thought their feelings were skewed or relevant to begin with.

* * * * *

Rodimus wandered the medi-bay aimlessly when he wasn’t being given something specific to do. He _wanted_ to hang around in Megatron’s room, but he _couldn’t_ —First Aid said that they both needed space and time. Plus Megatron was recovering from his optical surgery, which the CMO rescheduled to do now, since they all knew Megatron was confined to bedrest for a little while longer. It was just far easier to give him the surgery now, while he was already in recovery from his other injuries. His nanites could simply just take care of everything at one time.

At least First Aid said it was okay that he could curl up with Megatron during the recharge cycle. _That helped things_. But Megatron still couldn’t remember anything that had happened to him since the Trylian Captain had strapped him to the torture rack and placed the collar on him—he couldn’t even remember the collaring part, he only remembered the questioning.

None of the medics could figure out why, except that it had something to do with Megatron’s primary memory core in his brain module and the secondary memory unit in his chest. That was also why they felt he had regressed into an older version of himself—a version of Megatron who had never had a trial, become an Autobot or joined the crew of the _Lost Light_. A version of Megatron who never had the redemption of love, with a certain flame-colored mech.

Ultra Magnus had also cautioned Rodimus and all the medics not to speak to Megatron about any details of what had happened during his primal regression. They were all trying to figure out exactly what happened before even trying to explain it to him. It meant nothing to Rodimus—he had **_his Megatron_** back, he felt the warmth of their Spark-bond once more, that was all that was important to him. He had no interest in talking about anything else but their future together.

_He had to_. If Rodimus thought about _anything_ that had Megatron and himself parting ways ever again, he would rather die than to go on. Megatron and their love was the only thing keeping him going. He hoped that everyone understood that—Rodimus of Nyon never wanted to be left alone, left behind, ever again.

“ _Ah_ , the results look good from the optical exam I just took—it looks as if Captain Megatron’s optics will be back to normal focus and strength and tomorrow morning,” First Aid said, coming into the main area of the medi-bay.

“I won’t make him read any microprint right away, then,” Rodimus chuckled, fondly. “Here—I took a couple of patients and did some general vitals on them. They’re in the waiting room, their schedules are…….”

First Aid took the datapad and nodded up at Rodimus. Then he went out to the waiting room to call in his first patient. Rodimus took the time to walk back to Megatron’s room and look in on his sparkmate.

“Hi, big guy—how’re you feeling?” Rodimus murmured, walking over to the medical berth and leaning down to kiss the bulky grey mech’s forehead with fondness.

“I’m doing fine. The good news is, I won’t have to wear that faceplate mask anymore,” Megatron chuckled, his engines rumbling lightly as he reached a servo up to cup the back of Rodimus’ helm.

Rodimus nuzzled his sparkmate’s helm and revelled in the familiar touch of his lover’s servo.

“I still won’t be able to read microprint for a little while, though, so please don’t make me,” the grey-colored mech teased.

Rodimus laughed softly—the same kind of joke he just made to First Aid a few moments ago.

“Hey, as long as you can still frag me all off-shift long, I think we’re good,” the flame-colored mech said in return.

“ _That_ can be arranged……..once I’m given leave to go back to our room, as Ratchet won’t let us frag here,” Megatron responded, pulling Rodimus’ helm down so he could brush light kisses over his younger lover’s faceplate. “I suppose once I’m discharged from the medi-bay, Ultra Magnus will fill me in on everything. Even when I ask Ratchet, he grunts and says _‘not for me to say’_.”

“It’s pretty complicated. Ultra Magnus has been compiling all the information for you—he can explain it without getting emotionally messed up by it,” Rodimus answered with a sigh as he stood up straight. “Look, I’d wanna tell you, too. But………I only know part of it and…………you’d hate me for how I acted and reacted……… _and I don’t want you to hate me_.”

“Rodimus, I could _never_ hate you,” Megatron responded, frowning.

“ _Yeah?_ It’s better if Magnus explains it all,” the flame-colored mech mumbled, nervously crossing his arms across his chest. “ _Just_. Ya know, get better and all, so you can get discharged. Then we can frag and Magnus’ll explain everything.”

“ _I will_. It is frustrating that it takes so much time, but……it will come along soon enough,” the former Decepticon Leader responded, smiling over at his younger lover. “Come here, let me have a hug,” he added, motioning with a servo. “Then you should get back to work.”

Rodimus chuckled, walked back over to the side of the berth and leaned down to let Megatron wrap his arms around him. The hug was tight and warm and lasted for several moments. Then the flame-colored mech pulled away and walked backwards towards the door, he smiled and gave a little wave back at Megatron before he left the room and went to the main reception area of the medi-bay again.

* * * * *

The morning Megatron was able to leave the medi-bay, Rodimus was walking with his sparkmate back to their room—that was when they came upon one of the small protests, outside of Roller’s security office. Rodimus grunted, grabbed Megatron’s arm and dragged him in a different direction, to take the very long way back to their hab suite.

“Rodimus, what did I just see?” Megatron asked, his voice very even with a small tone of anger deep beneath it.

“Forget it—you’ll understand once Magnus has talked to you. Sending him a ‘com now to meet us there,” Rodimus grumbled softly. **[Magnus, you need to forget what you’re doing now—I’ll come up to the bridge and you come down here and explain everything to Megatron, okay? We just ran into a protest and he’s asking me about it.]** He send to his Second-in-Command, terseness in his audio-voice.

**[I am on my way,]** Ultra Magnus sent. He was at the hab suite before they were. “Go on up to the bridge, this will take a while and I do not believe that I will be back to conclude my shift.”

“I’ll call Thunderclash or Drift to take over for me later,” Rodimus sighed, taking the duty datapad from Ultra Magnus and then he hopped up to kiss Megatron’s cheek with warmth. “Later, Megs.”

Megatron walked over to the Energon storage unit and pulled a couple of cans out, handed one to Ultra Magnus and then walked over to the couch. He motioned to the seating at the opposite end of the seating and smiled. Ultra Magnus walked over, opening the can of Energon on the way, then sat down and crossed his legs as he relaxed back into the couch.

“Please remember, though I am your friend—I am giving you _an honest report_ on the events that happened,” Magnus said, his tone even and serious. “ _It is very bad_. The Trylian Captain placed a collar on you that contained a drug called _‘Corodine’_ —it’s something created in their home universe by Starscream,” he began.

“I seem to recall him explaining that. Nice to know my memory of _that_ isn’t faulty,” Megatron sighed, taking a sip of his Energon.

“This Cordine can be….. _creatively enhanced_ to work on specific species. The Trylians had the chemical that makes it lethal to Cybertronians. If it were a mere organic drug, our systems would conduct a system purge—however, the activator element is _Cybertonium_ ,” the red-blue-white mech answered, leaning his head back and offlining his optics with a deep sigh.

“Something often used in our recreational drugs as well—a core element of most derivations of circuit-speeders,” the bulky grey mech murmured, softly, sipping some more at his Energon.

“So, yes—now you can see _why_ the Corodine was able to enter your frame without being purged as an organic chemical normally would. There were a dozen timed injections set into the collar—you received ten of the twelve injections before we were able to get the collar removed and we were able to inject you with a cleanser through your systems,” the Second-in-Command of the _Lost Light_ sighed. “We think the **_needles_** triggered what happened next and not the drug itself.”

Megatron gave a jolt as Ultra Magnus said the word “ _needles_ ”, clapping his free servo to the back of his neck. “ _Oh, Primus…….. **that**_ ,” the bulky grey mech whispered, pain filling his voice. “I blacked out after that—I can’t remember anything at all. Magnus— _why_ can’t I remember anything about what happened after that?” He asked, looking over at his friend with worry evident on his faceplate.

“This will be the difficult part for you to hear and the reason why tensions are so high on the ship,” Ultra Magnus whispered. “What we think is that the needles punctured your neck and triggered a primal regression—we know you fear a mnemosurgeon’s needles and that fear broke something in you. A part of you scrambled to protect what was precious to you— _your Spark-bond_ —but somehow it also blocked your primary memory unit in your brain module. You were working from memories in your secondary memory unit in your chest—memories that were out of date by a good number of centuries.”

Megatron’s head turned to look at Ultra Magnus, shock evident in his expression. Then he hung his head. Centuries ago, but not “ _good_ ” centuries ago—nothing that happened during his time in the Functionist Universe. Magnus said “ _primal regression_ ”—that meant memories from when he had been the Leader of the Decepticons. Memories that probably were from when he……..?

“ _Dear Primus, what have I done?_ ” Megatron whispered, setting his can of Energon on the end table and burying his face in his servos.

“Unfortunately, those that believe the _‘evil Megatron’_ still exists—they see this as proof that we should kill you or abandon you. And given what you did while in this primal regression they see that…….” Magnus began when Megatron glared at him and interrupted.

“ _What did I do?_ ” He growled, the look on his faceplate full of pain and even a small bit of fear.

“You killed some of the Trylians and you fought against us,” Magnus answered, trying to hold back the one thing he didn’t want to tell Megatron.

“How many did I hurt?” Megatron whispered, burying his face in his servos again.

“Thunderclash only had mild injuries but Rodimus………..” Ultra Magnus began, when suddenly Megatron looked at him like the entire universe had just been destroyed before his optics.

“ _I hurt Rodimus? **Please tell me I did not hurt Rodimus!**_ ” Megatron cried, his voice twisted with fear and pain.

“ _Rodimus_. Rodimus was the one who came after you,” Ultra Magnus said. “You somehow blocked the Spark-bond, he _couldn’t feel you_ anymore and because of that—all he wanted to do was die. He provoked you like the irritating little brat he used to be and you used all your strength against him,” the mech said, very honestly.

Megatron gripped the sides of his helm and regretted his life entirely. He brought his forehead down on his knee-joints and his field rippled with sharp pain and sadness.

“So, everyone wants to be rid of me, because I’ve been proven to be the threat they all believed that I always was,” Megatron whispered, his voice barely even audible.

“ _Not everyone_ , only a small contingent of the crew—the ones who never really wanted you here in the first place and the ones who eagerly joined with Getaway,” Ultra Magnus answered, reaching a servo over to pat Megatron on the back. “And Rodimus is just happy he has his _‘Megs’_ back—he has his Spark-bond back and he’s _very happy_. He’s not thinking of dying now—which means, you really are the only thing keeping his suicidal tendencies in check.”

“How badly did I hurt Rodimus, though? He seems to be all right……….?” Megatron asked, sitting up and looking over at Ultra Magnus.

“You beat him up—he had internal damage, but that is right up First Aid’s alley, so he was able to fix all that fairly easily,” the red-white-blue mech said with a soft smile and chuckle. “The part you won’t like, but Rodimus could care less about, is _you also quite thoroughly rage-fragged him_.”

Megatron gave a self-deprecating chuckle and shook his head. “ ** _No_**. Yes, I can see why he would think that—he has treated his own frame very badly over the millennia and it really would not bother him—I suppose being unable to feel the Spark-bond was the very worst thing to him,” he murmured. “So, now what do we do, Magnus?”

“ _That_ is to be determined at a meeting of the full command crew. While we can take in the concerns of the crew, we must not let it command a full detriment to the ship,” Ultra Magnus said, a soft smile on his faceplate. “President Judur has also suggested that we consider taking on a new ship’s counselor.”

“It’s probably about time we replaced Rung,” Megatron murmured, resting his elbow-joints on his knee-joints and leaning his chin down to rest on his folded servos.

“ _That’s it_ —I couldn’t remember his name,” Magnus laughed softly. “He was the psychiatrist for the Wreckers as well. Why could I not remember his name?”

“ _He’s forgettable_ ,” Megatron responded with a wry smile. “There was one in the Functionist Universe, but he didn’t have the experience our universe’s version did—he was able to be remembered. Our Rung was designed to be forgotten. _Long story_.”

“Everything we do entails a long story,” the old soldier chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “ ** _You_** will be one of the first patients our new counselor sees— _and Rodimus will be the second_. We may all have issues, but the two of you are our captains and you both have _very serious problems_ in the mental health department.”

Megatron gave a light chuckle, then he pushed himself back against the back of the couch and began laughing loudly. “Oh, Primus— _you are so right_ ,” he said, looking at the old soldier and grinning at his friend.

* * * * *

“ _Um. **So**._ You mad at me?” Rodimus asked as he came into their hab suite and saw Megatron sitting on the couch and reading.

“Of course not,” Megatron said, patting the space beside him on the couch.

Rodimus walked over, but he did not try to sit down. He just stood there in front of his sparkmate, fidgeting nervously. “You mad at **_you_**?” He whispered, looking away from Megatron’s optics, shyly.

Megatron was about to say no, but after hearing that he’d rage-fragged Rodimus in his primal regression state, he was very angry with himself. He set his reader tablet aside and raised a servo up to Rodimus with entreaty.

“ _Yes._ I’m angry with myself, for hurting you,” the bulky grey mech sighed. “But I’ll get over it. I can’t keep being angry at things that cannot be changed. “And I suppose I should admit that I’m also rather disappointed in you—that you’d still want to destroy yourself after all we’ve been through.”

Rodimus gave a shuddering little sob as he began to cry in earnest. “ _I can’t do it. I can’t go on without you anymore— **I don’t want to**!_” The flame-colored mech whined, slapping Megatron’s servo away.

“I understand. But we still need to work on this—you _can’t_ go back to self-doom every time we have a disaster like this happen,” Megatron responded with a deep sigh.

“ _Then don’t die! **Don’t die and I won’t!**_ ” Rodimus sobbed.

Megatron got up from the couch and before Rodimus could back away, the older mech pulled his sparkmate close and hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his helm warmly. Rodimus’ arms went around him and he began sobbing harder, burying his faceplate in the grey-colored mech’s chest and mewling loudly with sadness and pain.

“Look, you know I’ll do my best, but we can’t just say the death of one of us will **_certainly_** be the death of the other—life goes on after pain and you have to live with pain and make it your strength,” Megatron murmured, stroking Rodimus’ back and spoiler fin fondly, soothingly.

“ _Don’twannadon’twannadon’twannadon’twanna_ ………….” Rodimus sobbed, pushing up against Megatron as much as he could, as if he could just disappear into him.

“ _Shhhhh._ This is something we’ll speak of later,” Megatron sighed. He held onto his lover and knew that talking more about this subject would just upset them both. Ultra Magnus was right—they both needed to see a psychiatrist so that they could talk about this with one another without harsh and heated words like this, where they upset and “pushed away” at one another. “Let’s go take a shower and go to berth. We’ll feel better after that.”

Rodimus nodded his head, scraping it against Megatron’s chest and let the older mech carry him over to the large washrack. The flame-colored mech began to relax as his lover scrubbed him with a sponge and soothing cleansing gel.

Then he felt the warmth fill him and start pooling deep inside of him.

First in his chest—it felt like his Spark was getting hot and radiating that heat out into his chestblock.

Then in his groin. He felt his valve tighten and clench with need. His HUD flared up, requesting permission to open his array.

Megatron felt Rodimus’ frame heat up and was puzzled. It would be _very bad taste_ to go from arguing straight to sex, but the feelings in the flame-colored mech’s EM field were definitely leaning towards “ _I wanna frag_ ”. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to give in to that right now or not. The grey-colored mech watched as Rodimus pressed himself up to the wall and swayed his frame sensually. Now Megatron was even more confused, the mech wasn’t asking to be fragged— _it looked like he was already halfway to overload._

And Megatron hadn’t done anything more than scrub him down.

“Rodimus, are you all right?” Megatron asked, once more trying to rub the sponge along Rodimus’ side in trying to clean him—he wasn’t going to make any untoward moves towards the younger mech without finding out just what was going on first. “Are you coming into a heat-cycle?” He murmured softly as Rodimus swayed at his touch.

“ _Just………just feel good. Ship feels good_ ,” Rodimus murmured.

That puzzled Megatron even more—despite some pockets of obvious discontent, Rodimus was saying that the mood of the ship was very intense and favorable. Somehow, he was absorbing it with his dermal sensor net. Had that been because he and Rodimus had been somewhat parted for a little while now and the younger mech was trying to get along without Megatron being near and protecting him with his own EM field?

**_It was an overflow of emotions._** The ship’s crew’s emotions were generally in “ _happy mode_ ” after surviving a very stressful moment. There were small groups of vocal, unhappy people—but the overall mood was happy and full of life. Until now, Rodimus’ general mood of worry and stress over Megatron’s medical situations was keeping him intense and focused only on that, but now he was relieved that Megatron was back to normal and his relaxation led to his medical dermal sensor net opening up to more of the emotions around him.

“I’m glad you feel good, then. Would you like to get off here and now, or shall I take you to the berth?” Megatron asked with a warm chuckle as he leaned in and nuzzled the back of his younger lover’s neck.

As soon as Megatron’s lips grazed the back of his neck cabling, Rodimus mewled softly and arched sensually, his body shuddering with a low-level overload. Then the flame-colored mech gasped and panted, leaning into the wall and trying to ease his incycle-and-exvent to a slower, more normal pace.

“Why don’t we finish in the berth, then?” The bulky grey mech chuckled, fondly.

He got them both lightly rubbed down and dried off, then carried Rodimus back out the main portion of the hab suite and laid the younger mech out on the berth, after swiping the cover blankets off of it and onto the floor. The flame-colored mech squirmed his frame around a little bit, still feeling horny and not quite able to be relieved, is what it felt like. Megatron chuckled and reached down for his lover’s hips, pulling him down to the end of the berth. He lifted them, even as he dipped his head and swiped his glossa through Rodimus’ wet mesh lips of his valve.

Rodimus gave a soft, shuddering cry, his servos curling into the berth’s fitted sheet and gripping tightly.

Megatron chuckled and swiped his tongue up through the damp folds and flicked his glossa on the swollen anterior node. Rodimus knew he was going to scream and he slapped his servos over his mouth before he did that. His back arched and he felt so hot and tight in his groin, he was coming upon another overload faster than he wanted to………..the flame-colored mech couldn’t understand why he was so active right now, why his array was so _overactive_.

The older, grey-colored mech nipped at the glowing bud with his dentae, lightly and gently. That sent Rodimus straight into his next overload, with his hard spike ejaculating transfluid all over his abdomen. Megatron purred with satisfaction, enjoying each and every moment of his younger lover’s pleasure. It had been quite sometime since they’d last been able to interface and he was going to enjoy every single microsecond of it. Megatron lowered Rodimus’ hips and let the flame-colored mech breathe his way through his overload recovery. He leaned over his lover’s frame and reached a servo up to stroke a dewy faceplate.

“How are you feeling, Rodimus?” The bulky grey mech murmured softly.

“ _Good. Feel good. Want more_ ……..” Rodimus moaned, squirming his shoulders a little as he once more felt the heat raging in his groin.

“Are you sure you aren’t coming into heat?” Megatron asked, still wondering about it. The flame-colored mech did not appear to have the symptoms that afflicted **_him_** when he had his heat-cycle months ago. Rodimus just seemed to be very _interface-needy_ , which was unlike Rodimus—however, he’d just had a very intense scare. He thought he had lost Megatron and his Spark-bond, maybe his own emotions were just feeding back into his need for companionship and he knew how much Megatron loved fragging, so he was responding to that at every level.

“I’ll get a checkup………….. ** _nnnnngh, later_** ………… _frag me now…………..please_ ………..!” Rodimus whimpered, his frame squirming on the berthsheets.

“I will, and gladly, but I just want to make sure I’m doing the proper thing for your health and safety if you are coming to such an event,” Megatron murmured, climbing up onto the berth and leaning over Rodimus, nuzzling his neck-cabling fondly.

Rodimus’ servos snapped up and he wrapped his arms about Megatron’s neck. He mewled softly and his focused words were gone and he whimpered and pushed his frame up against the grey-colored mech’s frame.

“All right, I understand— _frag now, talk later_ ,” Megatron chuckled softly.

As long as Rodimus wasn’t expressing pain and was enjoying the pleasure of interfacing, then it was fine for now. He might emotionally hurt Rodimus by refusing to interface right now. As unusual as it was for Rodimus to be the one wanting it so badly, at least Megatron could ease the physical discomfort by giving Rodimus the interfacing he wanted right now. He reached down and pushed the flame-colored mech’s hips to the berth, then he lowered his own hips and opened his spike panel.

Megatron incycled a deep breath as he felt his spike pressurize and waves of lust ripple through him. Then he shifted his frame and rubbed the large spear-shaped head of his spike gently against the mesh lips of Rodimus’ valve. The flame-colored mech gave a whimpering mewl which nearly drove Megatron to just thrust and forget all the rest. But he was the mature one here and he’d make sure Rodimus enjoyed it, not that they both just “ _got to it_ ”. He slowly pushed his spike through the mesh and sank into the clutching valve, it rippled around him—tightening, but welcoming him inside.

“ _Ah Primus_ ,” Megatron whispered as he pushed as deeply as he could into Rodimus’ valve and just held himself there, incycling with shuddering breaths. Rodimus felt like he was clenching harder than normal inside— ** _desperate and needing_**. There was some kind of issue here, but if Megatron didn’t follow through right now and lead them both to satisfaction, then he’d put a strain on their relationship—which did not need such a thing right at the moment.

There would be enough time to figure that out after overload and rest for them both. Megatron began rhythmically thrusting his hips, gauging Rodimus’ need and want by the cries and the mewling coming from his vocalizer as to how he should adjust or speed up his thrusts. The flame-colored mech clutched at him with arms and legs, straining to reach the fully satisfying overload he was craving—and then it was upon him, as Megatron’s frame buried itself deep and filled him full of thick transfluid and charge, filling capacitors to full and beyond.

Rodimus gave a quick, second little overload after the first tremendous one, as Megatron’s charge was sucked up by all the sensor nodes and clusters in Rodimus’ valve and triggered to overload as one.

“Are you done, my lovely flame?” Megatron murmured, pulling out of his lover and laying next to him, pulling the flame-colored mech into his arms and gently nuzzling the back of his neck-cabling.

“ _Mmmmm. Think so_ ,” Rodimus murmured, still a little dazed from his multiple overloads and backed into Megatron as closely as he could. “ _Thanks. Missed it. You_.”

“As did I, lovely one,” the grey-colored mech said, warmth coloring the tone of his voice. He was about to say “ _we must talk_ ”, when he felt the younger mech’s systems fall into a steady recharge hum. “I suppose we will talk tomorrow, then. And, as much as it may pain us both, it will have to be **_seriously_**.”

* * * * *

First Aid eyed all the scans, critically. Even though he asked for Ratchet, Velocity and Nickel’s opinions on the scans from Rodimus’ checkup—there was only one sure and certain thing………he shook his head and placed his servos on his hips and then looked over the scans with his most critical of optics once again.

“Is it my imagination or is his sensor net stronger—stronger than a normal medic’s?” First Aid snapped, turning towards his three fellow medical officers and looking at them unwaveringly.

“ _No_. It’s **_definitely_** stronger than it should be, stronger than a _medic’s_ should be,” Nickel grumbled, looking alternatively at her work datapad and the scanner screen. “You told me he’s from Nyon—right? Was he Forged or an MTO?”

“ _Forged_ , most MTOs didn’t come about until the war heated up, right?” Velocity asked, curiously looking at Ratchet.

“ ** _Nnngh_** _. No_. They were working on the ConCold project long before the war—earlier ones had a birth city in their designations, _like Megatron_ ,” Ratchet responded, sighing deeply. “But Rodimus is Forged—he was _not ignited_ in Nyon, though. Nyon hadn’t had a birthfield active in over a thousand years before Rodimus’ ignition,” the old Autobot medic answered. “ ** _Alyon_**.”

“ _Wait_. You didn’t just say _‘Alyon’_ , did you?” First Aid gasped. “Oh, Primus save us all—I was thinking that because he was from Nyon he may’ve had a priest’s sensor net, because that’s a lot like a medic’s dermal sensor net…………. _but Alyon_?” The small Chief Medical Officer of the _Lost Light_ grasped his helm and rubbed it soothingly with one servo as he stared at the floor with such intensity that he had nearly tuned out the room and bored holes in the floor.

“Perhaps it’s because I’m not from Cybertron, but what’s so special about Alyon?” Velocity asked, raising her servo to be noticed as she asked the question to her fellow medical officers.

“It’s not that Alyon is special, it’s _what was done to Alyon_ —to the Sparks in that birthfield,” First Aid said, very quietly. “Alyon was an experiment—a Primus-be-damned experiment to try and create super-soldiers because the ConCold program was progressing too slowly for the likes of a very war-hungry Senate.”

Ratchet looked at Velocity and Nickel sitting next to him. “Alyon was the most open birthfield that Cybertron had seen in a very long time—it was also smaller than most of the other birthfields that were igniting, it was close and clustered. The size of it allowed the Senate to get better data from their experimentation than what they could get from other remaining fields that were igniting at the time,” the older Autobot medic said with a deep sigh.

“What Ratchet isn’t able to explain is that Alyon was one of the last few fields to ignite. It’s likely that Vector Sigma did not appreciate the Senate’s experiments, because after Alyon—the fields began to cool and never ignited again,” First Aid said very quietly. “ _The last of the Forged_. When I was in downtime, I often ran simulations on birthfields—I wanted to find out why the Forgings died out. The Senate took that as their cue to increase the ConCold program—often to dangerous levels. Data was never recovered on the Alyon experiment from the Senate—of course, they didn’t want anyone to know what they were doing.”

Then the small CMO gave a deep sigh and shook his head.

“The data records show that Orion Pax had the Sparks harvested from Alyon shipped to Nyon,” First Aid added, looking at them all. “It’s been theorized **_that_** was why Zeta Prime focused his siphon on Nyon—he believed all the supposed possible _‘Super-Sparks’_ from the Alyon experiment were likely concentrated more in Nyon than anywhere else on Cybertron. The mechs and femmes were young and less likely to fight back, but their Sparks would be strong and powered the weapon he wanted to harvest them for.”

“Oh, Primus— ** _that’s why_** ……… _ah, poor Nyon_ ,” Ratchet sighed, tossing his head back and laying a servo over his faceplate.

“But Rodimus hasn’t been shown to have a unique Spark, nothing that would construe this supposed _‘Super-Spark’_ think you’re theorizing,” Nickel said, frowning over at First Aid.

Velocity cupped her chin, thoughtfully, making soft little murmuring sounds. Then she raised her hand before speaking again. “Maybe that’s because we’re defining his Spark by the way we _normally_ define Sparks,” the teal-colored Camien said with a light chuckle. “Look, we always define our Sparks as our cores—we call the color of it **_special_** by one way or another. But Outliers—they don’t have anything different with their Sparks either, most Outliers have a _normal-colored_ Spark,” she began, standing up and motioning with her servos as she began to pace a little bit.

First Aid snapped his digits and laughed. “ ** _That’s right!_** How do we find out when we’ve got an Outlier on our hands and _why_ do we define them thus?” He said, gazing at all of them.

“Outliers were generally theorized as mechs or femmes whose Sparks faced an abnormal irradiation of some sort or some sort of alteration to their base-coding after ignition,” Nickel said, quietly. “We never figure out who an Outlier is until their ability manifests for the very first time—that may be as a protoform or it may be as a two-thousand-year-old Cybertronian.”

“Exactly, so………maybe we should be assuming Rodimus is an Outlier of some sort?” Velocity said, tilting her head as she looked down at First Aid. “He showed an ease at controlling an Outlier-type ability during the fight with the DJD—easier than all the others did.”

“But those flames _weren’t_ his ability—he wanted something destructive at that moment, because he believed **_he_** was destructive,” First Aid responded with a deep sigh. “No, this is something similar—and something else. I think it’s _more_ than an Outlier ability and more than a mere mutation of his Spark. But maybe I’m not wrong on the whole priest thing. His dermal sensor net, now that I evaluate it more—it has more similarities to _a Shepherd_. Or………do they not use that term anymore?” He trailed off as everyone gave him an odd look.

“They definitely do not,” Nickel laughed softly. “You really have been sheltered away for a long time, kiddo,” she said, grinning at First Aid with fondness. “So, a………. _Shepherd_ ………..is basically like a **_medic for religion_**. I really think we use the simple term _‘healer’_ now for that—a medic is a medic, but a healer is more spiritual.”

“ _Hmmmm_. This explains why Drift really feels the way he does about Rodimus and all this destiny mumbo-jumbo,” Ratchet grumbled, crossing one of his legs over the other and folding his arms across his chest. He waved his pede a bit anxiously and grumbled softly under his breath.

Nyon would’ve been the _perfect place_ for Rodimus to grow up—if he’d been able to be raised by the priests in the Citadel properly, he’d have achieved his full education to suit him best. All of this was ridiculous—targeting Nyon was the worst thing the Senate and Zeta Prime could ever have done. The destruction was senseless and it ruined a young mech’s life entirely.

“As a priest— _this healer kind of priest_ —Rodimus would be motivated to keep peace and happiness of the flock and the city around him,” First Aid murmured. “How is that really different than being captain of this ship? It’s the _same thing_ , different environment and extreme circumstances. However, Rodimus doesn’t have the education he needs to suit his full potential.”

“And he doesn’t have the training to keep himself stable with all of the people around him and their emotions around him all the time,” Ratchet sighed, shaking his head with disbelief. “Priests also aren’t supposed to Spark-bond—they’re supposed to remain single and pure. If what Drift tells me is right.”

“What priest _doesn’t_ indulge?” Nickel said with a little chortle of amusement.

“Interfacing maybe, but Spark-bonding is generally a really big _‘no-no’_ ,” Ratchet responded, grinning over at the short Decepticon femme. “Now I see _why_. If the supposed priest had this dermal sensor net, much like our own medical one—Spark-bonding might affect how it would work as the priest interacted with his flock. You tend to want to put your sparkmate first and sometimes, I think, your job must take priority over your mate. A priest, focused on community and love and all that nonsense would find it very difficult to prioritize the people over a sparkmate in tense situations.”

“All right, so we think we’ve found our reasoning here—who wants to be the one to explain it to both of our Captains?” Velocity said, placing her servos on her hips.

“Heh, **_if_** we even can explain it—what do we suggest they do about it?” Nickel laughed, shaking her head.

“It might be time for Rodimus to _‘find God’_ ,” Ratchet said, drolly.


End file.
